The Wistful Dinner
The ledger showed fourteen hours. That was the count for the night shift at the Ironworks Palace, a sprawling complex of soot-blackened brick and riveted iron that dominated the valley floor. Sergeant Elias Thorne checked his watch, a brass-cased thing that had cost him three months’ wages, and watched the pendulum swing. Fourteen hours of labor, fourteen hours of exposure to the gas, fourteen...
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